Dark road
by Seriel-Drake
Summary: The paths fork and divide. With each step you take, you make a choice and every choice determines your future paths. What choices will make one young doctor, when she meets one troubled boy and his butler? Sometimes she will be able to choose the path she follows. Sometimes her choices will be made for her. And sometimes she will have no choice at all.
1. Little missy

Chapter one - Little missy

All decent stories have a good ending. The writer needs to know where he should end his tale, because all of them have one thing in common - if they go on long enough they all end in death. Sometimes death can also be found on the very first pages, when the main character becomes an orphan and after years of hard labor with horrible relatives, discovers that he is "the chosen one", and from time to time saves the world. These are simple imperatives of narration and without them no decent story can exist. Therefore, I do not know if this tale is suitable to gain a reputation as one of the "decent" because it starts not with death, but with shopping. In addition, shopping done on one sunny autumn afternoon.

On exactly such a day, the Baroness Angelina Dalles was in search of new, red gloves so she would not have to think about other much more serious and miserable things. She nearly walked into another store when she had to make a choice.

The Baroness, commonly known as Madam Red, saw someone whom she had not seen for more than five years. Her choices were thus: She could ignore him and go unnoticed, minding her own business; or she could do otherwise. She did otherwise.

"Charles!" she called and ran to the man who just climbed out of a carriage.

Lord Sinclair turned around and, seeing the woman running toward him, smiled broadly and bowed as befits a true gentleman.

"Red, what a pleasant surprise," he greeted with a clear Scottish accent. "How long has it been?"

"Far too long," she replied, and took him by the arm, pulling him from the carriage in the direction of a nearby cafe. "Really, for years you have been locked in these mountains of yours like some bear. I thought you'd forgotten me. "

Hearing this the man burst out laughing.

"My lady, I am afraid that I cannot forget you even if I try."

"So you tried?"

"For God's sake, of course not!" Charles laughed again. "If you had not noticed Scotland is not near London, and after my father's death I had to take over his duties. I greatly regret this little exile of mine. Believe me. "

"Then what exactly is my favorite Highlander doing so far from home?"

Lord Sinclair closed his eyes with a sight.

"Do you remember my niece, Evelyn? She is as stubborn as her mother, or as another person, whose name I will not mention out of politeness," he looked at her pointedly. "She has it in her head that she will not just sit at home and drink tea. She has decided to become a physician. Really, that girl and her dreams."

"My little Evelyn?"

"Oh, believe me; she is not so little anymore. She is a young woman now, however, she is stubborn like a mule. She has finished her second year of medical school so I came to assist her in obtaining an internship. You know it's very hard for a woman."

Madam Red punched him in the ribs.

"Two years she has been here and you did not tell me? I cannot believe it, I just cannot! And exactly how long have you been here? "

"I do not know. Two, three weeks?" he admitted nervously.

"Three weeks?" she clenched her teeth and stormed into the café like a livid Valkyrie.

Lord Sinclair quickened his pace to catch up with furious woman disappearing in the doorway. Carefully he sat beside her at the table, taking care not to earn the next blow.

"Stop sulking, Ann. At the very beginning I didn't tell you about Evelyn because I was hoping that she would come to her senses and return home. But two years had passed, and she still has stood by this foolishness. Honestly, I felt too uncomfortable to tell you after that because I knew you'd be upset that I didn't tell you earlier. I must admit that when I arrived few weeks ago I wanted to meet you, but then I heard about your tragedy. I have even seen Rachel. It was she who advised me to leave you alone for the time being."

Madam Red glanced down. Stroking fingers on the tablecloth, her thoughts were far away.

"Red?"

She woke up feeling his hand on her shoulder.

"Please, don't say anything about it and don't even start about how sorry you are. I'm sick of all this pity. All I can do now is forget. I'm still young and I have my whole life ahead of me, right?" she smiled, but not even a hint of amusement reached her eyes. "As for Evelyn, send her to me at the hospital next Monday."

The man blinked, confused.

"But… don't you have to discuss something like this with your boss?"

"Of course I do. Even so, send her to me," she replied with a nonchalant smile. Maybe Madam Red was only a woman in a man's world, but she could deal with anything if she had an adequate advantage, and sister with the name Phantomhive was sufficient leverage.

Ω

That is the story of how Evelyn got her internship at the London Royal Hospital. She could not say that the atmosphere there was overly friendly, nor that she had been accepted with open arms. Aside from doctor Dalles, no one was happy with her presence; taking her as a little rich missy with new-fangled ideas that got stuck into her head. Her work consisted mostly in assisting Madam Red in the simple procedures and studding operations that were more complex, but still "appropriate" for a woman. From the very beginning when Madam Red was not around others burdened her with the worst tasks, and being only an intern she could not refuse them.

Like now, for example. She had been given the task to prepare corpses and hand them to an undertaker. Evelyn reviewed the documents and examined the remains. Everything was in order. It was not a difficult task, but from what she heard, dislike for it was born not from overload of needed work. That also was not fault of the dead, because, frankly speaking, everyone was used to them. The reason for all this commotion was much more prosaic: none of the nurses or the paramedics wanted to have contact with the man who took the bodies. From what Evelyn had managed to find out he was a strange fellow, much more frightening than his clients.

She went to the doors leading to the backyard that was currently bathed in the pouring rain. London weather left much to be desired, that was for certain. She adjusted a lock of hair that was falling over her eyes. Idle waiting did not make sense. She could as well use the free moment to do something useful. The girl sat down on the nearby ramp and began looking through her notes of physiology.

Ω

Undertaker hated the rain. It was not bad in itself, cold and dampness were not a problem for him, but there was something in it that did not agree with his nature. Maybe it was fact that every drop carried the breath of life, and this was in direct conflict with his being.

He adjusted a soaking wet top hat and pulled the reins. He had to turn the wagon to be able to easily load the bodies. Undertaker wondered who was waiting for him this time. Maybe it was the old and disgusting Montgomery, whom he loved to frighten? Maybe it was one of the nurses? He hoped it would be the short, freckled blonde. She was the easiest to upset.

He slightly raised his hat, seeing a person in medical smock sitting on the ramp. It was something new. Through a rain he could not see their identity very well, until he got closer. He grinned and almost bounced seeing a young woman- apparently an intern. No true doctor would allow themselves to be sent to meet with crazy undertaker, whose disgraceful manners were well known throughout the hospital.

The girl saw him, immediately got up and went inside. Undertaker parked the wagon, tied the horse, and as quietly as possible, snuck up to the young physician. He tapped her on the shoulder, which of course resulted in a scream and a mass of papers floating in the air.

"What the hell?!" she shouted, her face paled like a ghost at the scare. She turned to the man laughing his head off. "Are you trying to kill me? You cannot scare people like th... "

Her voice faded as soon as she looked at him. The girl blinked as if she did not want to believe her own eyes and abruptly bent down to pick up the papers. When she finished and stood up, she was already calm.

"Can you load the bodies? I'll get the documents and give them to you as a receipt. "

Undertaker wanted to say something, but he could not, because the woman had marched to the desk in the corner and persistently began to ignore him. She was not mortified by his presence; she rather treated him as a worthless worm, an unmistakable sign of the upper class. He adjusted the hat and began to load the corpses into the coffins on the wagon. Unfortunately, nothing will be done if he doesn't do it. After completing half of the work, Undertaker had to admit that he was disappointed. This girl was boring, and by the tone of her voice and sharp, quick moves, it was obvious that she did not tolerate nonsense. Where was fun in that?

He was almost finished, but the entire time he was there he could not shake the feeling that he knew this girl from somewhere. Without thinking, he threw a body on the floor and glared at the young doctor. She was quite pretty for a living human, but he had most likely met her a while ago. Therefore, she would have had to be a child then, and in his profession, he did not see too many children, at least one that was breathing. He scratched his chin. A little girl with black hair and electric blue eyes, tolerant to no kind of nonsense… Where had he seen her before?

Suddenly he smiled and gleefully rubbed his hands. He remembered and could not get rid of the one and only thought: This is going to be fun. Oh, so much fun!

Ω

He doubted he was any wiser than he had been three hundred years back. He was older. He had been up, he had been down, and he had been brought up again. Has he learned enough? He had indeed learned from his mistakes, but he still had time to commit more of them. At the moment he was trying to learn something new; or maybe he was just making another mistake?

Undertaker drove a shovel into the ground and leaned on it looking with pride on one more dug grave. This was not part of the memorial service and not because the cemetery was empty. Burying the urban poor he had become accustomed to the fact that funerals generally involved nothing more than throwing commoners into a mass grave, burying them and digging the next hole.

This time, however, he was doing something else. This time instead of putting the dead into their graves, he was pulling them out.

He began to dig again. Despite his unusual actions, he did not care about onlookers. The cemetery was located away from the village, and just before nightfall in rainy and windy weather the majority of the villagers preferred to sit at home rather than roam through the moors. Even if someone wandered by they would likely not notice him. People were in this matter particularly uncomplicated. They simply did not see things that they did not want to see, and the grim reaper- even the ex-grim reaper- was one of those things. Yes, people... they seemed to be nothing more than animals, which cared only for themselves. However, over time, when he saw hundreds of their cinematic records, he began to notice some scenes that did not fit with the rest. He began to see in their souls no dull work, but the mystery from the border of life and death that asked for the answer.

Without a problem he tore the lid off of a coffin. This one was particularly fresh; no more than two, perhaps three, weeks. Undertaker shifted the child's corpse over his shoulder and jumped out of the hole just to stand in front of something blue. It was not an ordinary blue. It was not the everyday sky blue, nor the color of the little flowers that spring up by the side of the road, nor even the paint flaking off of the old shed in the back of the field. Every tendril of the various shades of incandescent strikingly white-blue lined up next to another making it seem like white tundra. It was as if a blizzard was eternally raging on with a black void in the center. It did not capture light, but defied it. It was so blue that it literally glowed. Moreover, it stood at the height of his navel.

Undertaker blinked once, twice, but the unusual blue color still relentlessly glared at him- it belonged to the eyes of a little girl. He took two steps to the left, then two to the right, but the glare traveled after him with unnerving thoroughness. Against all odds, it seemed that this pale lassy could see him. For an extended moment his eyes remained steady and unblinking on her face. A deep vertical line pulled between his brows, as if someone had smacked him upside the head and he had not recovered.

"Yes?" he asked finally.

"Lat Carl be," demanded the Scottish girl in a tone that ruled out any possibility of disagreement.

Undertaker was quite unable grasp the situation, which was at the very least unusual.

"You mean this?" he made a gesture, pointing at the corpse.

"This is my frein," said the girl and with a loud hmph crossed her arms.

"This isn't your friend," he tugged dead boy's cheek. "It's nothing more than an empty body."

"If it's neathing but an empty corp, then get yoursel some other," she persisted.

"But this one is quite fresh, exactly what I need for my experiments. To your friend it won't do any difference," he assured, not knowing why he explained himself to the child. In fact, he found that it was quite funny.

"Maybe fur him it doesn't matter, but fer me it does. There are other fresh corpses. I will show ye if ye leave Carl. Although ..." she paused and gave him a critical look from the top of the hat to the tips of muddy shoes. "Actually, why do you need these corpses? Wha are ye? "

Undertaker smiled and bowed so low that the dead boy's head hit the ground.

"I'm just a humble Undertaker, missy."

"No, ye are no!" protested the child.

The man stopped.

"Am I not?"

"Ye're talking oot yer fanny flaps. I saw how ye dug the coffins. Ye are too strong for a man. Whit are ye?"

Well, he thought, if she can see me, she might also be able to see other supernatural things. Even normal children were much more open minded than adults, the latter of which were mostly just stupid.

"Busted," he admitted. His smile transformed his face from human to almost bestial. "I am what people call a grim reaper."

"Mince."

This time the smile immediately disappeared from his face and he was left speechless for good.

"Huh?"

"Last year we had a flu epidemic. Mony people in the village died. I saw a few different grim reapers. Each of them had a scythe and spectacles and ye have none."

Undertaker put the corpse on the ground and crouched down so their faces were at the same height.

"So you've seen them, little missy? In that case, you should have also seen their eyes," he whispered gloomily, taking her chin in one hand and the other lifting hair from his face. The girl, seeing the phosphorescent glow of chartreuse eyes, flinched and wanted to spring back, but strong grip stopped her.

The man chuckled.

"You recognize them, good. But you know what? Actually, you're right, I am not a grim reaper, not anymore."

"Are ye no?" she could not believe him.

"It was particularly boring. I have now more interesting job."

"I didn't know ye could stop being a grim reaper."

"You can stop being anything, my dear."

The girl wanted to express her doubts, but was interrupted by sudden rustling of nearby bushes. Two dark shapes jumped out, and lazily purring, leapt to a nearby tombstone.

Undertaker looked at the dun cats that seemed to reciprocate it with unusual for these creatures inquisitiveness. These cats were indeed strange. After a moment, he realized that he was no longer kneeling before the remarkable girl (who had just become in his eyes even more uncommon), because she hid behind him and clung to him like a burdock stuck to his coat. The reaper raised his eyebrows and tracked her gaze to two purring creatures. Suddenly he came to the rather obvious conclusion.

"This is fine surprise indeed, my little missy is afraid of cats."

The girl huffed, but despite the annoyance, she hid behind him deeper.

"I'm no scared, I'm just ..." she fell silent, wondering what she should say to someone who, without any good reason, was digging up corpses. Should she tell him anything at all? All of sudden louder purr convinced her that she preferred the mad gravedigger to those diabolical creatures. "Da said that no one should trust cats." (A/N: Da = Dad)

"No one should trust them, huh?" Undertaker chewed his thumb wondering why anyone would trust the four-legged fur balls on the first place.

"How can ye trust someone wha is listening to neabody? And they have these big wary eyes ..."

At least with the previous had to agree. No matter how many times he had cast out cats from his shop after a while they still came back; especially in the winter when they had a habit of sneaking up and gnawing on his clients, not giving a shit about his supernatural person or an ordinary broom. Well, cats were cats, but their presence gave him a new possibilities.

"I'm sorry to say, missy, but it's terribly late and I have to be getting back," he stood up and wanted to move, but little hands wrapped themselves around his leg, stopping him. "Well, and what is this? Could it be that you are not afraid to approach a grave-digging former grim reaper, but you are anxious to be alone with two fluffy kittens?"

Only silence and one stiff nod answered him.

This time he could not stop a snigger escaping from his throat.

"In that case I have an offer," he made effective pause and continued trying to hide amusement echoing throughout his voice. "Being a very generous person, I thought I'd leave your friend's body here to rest. Or, I can take it, but in return I will get you back home, away from these big wary eyes. So, what do you think, my little missy? "

The girl thought for a moment and glanced at the body of little boy. His abdomen was swelled with greenish liquid, and the rest of the skin began to resemble a grey resin. She shuddered seeing a beetle coming out of his ear. She swallowed, leaned out and glanced at the cats, and then merely nodded to him. Undertaker laughed aloud, grabbed the boy's body and threw it over his shoulder. In the next moment, he turned around, picked up the living child, and hid her under the flaps of his coat.

The girl was evidently shocked, because instead of protests, from her lips escaped nothing more than surprised whimper. She grabbed him by the shirt and gritted her teeth, trying not to comment on the dangling chain of lockets that hit her in the nose. After a few steps, she felt that the man had bounced off the ground and jumped on the wagon. Then yanking the reins, he forced his horse to move off.

They rode in silence, which he broke when the cemetery disappeared behind a hill. Chuckling he undid the buttons of his coat, showing a small head full of jet-black hair tucked into his chest.

"You really do not like them, do you? However, it seems that you like me very, very much. "

The girl blushed and, embarrassed, moved away from him, almost falling off the cart. As could be expected this only resulted in another peal of laughter.

"You're a strange one, little missy."

"Look wha's talking," she stuttered, trying to fight the flush that clearly decided to stay on her cheeks permanently. Out of the blue the calls of an owl gained her attention. "It's getting late. I will better get off here."

Undertaker looked around, but seeing nothing but forests, moors and gloomy lake stretching into the distance he turned to his little passenger.

"Are you sure?"

"Ay, I'm sure!"

He drew the reins, stopping the wagon. Seeing her righteous indignation he could not stop giggling and ruffled her hair, from which she huffed even more. The girl pulled up her skirt and jumped straight into a big puddle, which was, however, far less important than gaining distance from him. She bit her teeth and headed forward through the mud.

Unable to stop himself, he moved the wagon forward, neither surpassing her nor staying behind. The girl, however, decidedly ignored him. But after five minutes of dreadful silence she could stand it no longer.

"What do ye want?!"

"Me?" he asked blinking with feigned innocence. "What could I want?"

"I don't know, that's exactly why I'm asking! Could ye just stop playing total bawheed? I cannot stand all this havering anymore."

It was too much. He roared with laughter rolling from the left to the right and again to the left. The girl clenched her fists and walked away in the opposite direction. Undertaker, hearing retreating footsteps, finally stopped and turned to the departing girl.

"Hey, little missy, at least tell me your name!"

The girl stopped and shaking with anger turned to him one last time.

"It's nane of yer business!" she screamed causing another peal of laughter. When Undertaker calmed down, the girl was gone. With two fingers he rubbed sore corners of his mouth. He could not remember the last time when he laughed so much.

Ω

Even now, after all these years, he giggled thinking about that day. He rubbed his hands, and barely controlling excitement, sneaked up to her and looked over her shoulder.

"It's good to see you again, my little missy."

* * *

><p><strong>So, my ever-first attempt at Black Bulter fic. Thank you to everyone who reads this, and even bigger thank you to LadyKeyes, my grammar goddess. <strong>


	2. Lives and lies

**Chapter two - Lives and lies**

Undertaker snatched documents from petrified girl and leafed through them looking for an answer to the question that had been bothering him from the beginning. Much to his barely concealed delight, he finally found it.

"Evelyn Douglas, eh? So, this is name of my little missy!"

Reaper glanced up from the papers and this time he froze. The woman stood behind the chair, holding its backrest so if necessary she could swing at him. She had at the same time so serious an expression, as if she actually believed that she could hurt him.

"Could you be so kind as to enlighten me, what do you plan on doing with that?" he asked, trying to prevent incoming waves of mirth.

"Do not come any closer or I swear, I'll bash your head into pieces." The threat would probably be a lot more frightening if her voice stopped trembling and she was not slowly backing away toward the exit, dragging with her the potential weapon, which on a daily basis part of the furniture.

The girl did not know when or how, but in the next moment, rather than holding the chair she was sitting on it and staring at the grinning teeth of mad reaper, who leaned over her, blocking any attempt of escape.

"Well ..." he began slowly, savoring her growing panic. "It looks like I'll have to thank Vincent."

Hearing his words the terror on her face turned into a picture of total imbecility.

"Say what?" she asked before she could think that getting into conversation with him was not one of her best ideas.

"Earl Phantomhive recently mentioned to me that his sister in law asked him for a favor. I didn't think that you will be this favor," the man smirked, seeing that his explanation created only more questions. "Really, you thought that Lady Dalles could convince the director of the hospital to employ another woman? Aside from the Queen's Guard Dog, few people could prevail upon Osbert anything at all, not to mention something like that. Especially now, when his position is threatened."

Evelyn had to admit that it explained a lot. Doctor Dalles was not especially popular in the hospital, especially among the medical circle that - except from her - was consisted wholly of men. Nevertheless, even they were much more accepting than the director of the facility, Sir Basil Osbert, who - from the lack of a better term - was excellent example of bigotry, and total arsehole. So, she owed everything to Earl Phantomhive, but...

"What do you mean by the Queen's Guard Dog?"

Undertaker grinned widely.

"You want so many answers and yet you gave me so little in return," he began to egg her on, but seeing her quiver with annoyance, pursed lips he once again turned into a giggling mess. "You're lucky I know how endearing you are and that I can safely give you a loan."

The young doctor snuggled into the chair, when Undertaker leaned over her even harder, but after fraction of a second he straightened up and sat down on the desk.

"Earl Phantomhive is the one who sniffs out those who violate the commandments of the British Underworld and disposes of them. The Watchdog of the Queen. The Villainous Noble. The Aristocrat of Evil, etc. You catch the drift?"

Evelyn only nodded, trying to absorb all the new information and imagine Madam Red as part of the British underworld. In the meanwhile the Undertaker pondered something tapping his chin.

"The true question is not how, but why are you here? Someone with your abilities completely surrounded by death. It is rather unexpected. "

Evelyn nervously bit her lower lip.

"Seeing upcoming death, I know when not to waste time trying to save someone, and then I can take care of those who have a chance."

"But what if the grim reaper is there, because someone dies precisely for the reason that you will not waste time on him? What then?" Undertaker said in an unusually detached and controlled voice.

The girl held her breath and flushed; it was not known whether she did so out of rage or lack of air. His words felt like punch in the guts.

"Ye're the fudest, most hame-drauchtit, atrocious excuise for spiritual being in this or ony ither plane," she hissed, not paying attention to the fact that under stress she had flipped to her native dialect. "A don't want to hear aneof yer theological paradoxes. Fair oot, the day A don't care hou fate works."

Undertaker could no longer bear it. It has been years since anyone dared to chide him. This righteous indignation was still in her. He began to laugh so hard that he threw off papers from the desk, what of course only intensified her infuriation. She shifted in her seat like a crow fluffing out its wings. The only thing she was missing was the pissed-off caw. His attack of hysteria, however, was so long that before it was over, she already managed to calm down a bit. She knew that if she continued to make him laugh, she would never get rid of him.

"And what are you doing here?" she asked when he finally controlled himself.

"I came for the bodies, what else?" he answered, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Wait a second, are you trying to tell me that the real grim reaper works as a regular underta..." she paused, remembering corpses which he took years before from the village. "What are you doing with all these bodies? You don't eat them, do you? "

With this burst of laughter not the documents, but Undertaker himself dropped from the desk, remembering that gravitation works also for grim reapers, at least sometimes. Right then Hortensia Gambol, head nurse and the worst of all plagues known to mankind, entered the room. To say that the sight of a rolling-on-the-floor-laughing freak of an undertaker, a blushing young doctor, and unloaded-and-lying-on-the-floor corpses led her out of balance was an understatement of the century. One of her heavy brows slanted in strong disapproval. Nevertheless, that was just the beginning.

Evelyn had seen the entrance of the old hetaera, (whom she tried to avoid at all costs), and rolled her eyes skyward with a silent get-me-out-of-this expression. It definitely was not her day.

Ω

Days and weeks passed one by one. Patients came and went; sometimes on their own feet, and at other times they were taken by the ever-giggling Undertaker. After their first meeting, Evelyn was permanently assigned to transfer of the remains, of course, at the request of a known person. Every visit of the man proceeded similarly. One interested party remained silent, and the second even more stubbornly tried to force the first to speak, at the same time laughing like a mad hyena.

His unusual liking of her was not affecting well on the image of a young lady among her co-workers. She was not a spoiled, rich missy anymore. Now she was also wacky. She thought that it was what people had in mind when saying "guilty by association."

Evelyn took the wrist of boy sleeping in his mother's arms to examine his pulse. It was the first baby she had delivered alone. Doctor Dalles had not show up at work today, so the girl automatically took over all of her typically female cases. All was well until the woman had been brought in. During premature labor contractions ceased, which required a caesarean section. When Evelyn realized what she had to do, she almost fainted. Until recently, nearly every procedure like this ended with the death of mother, but thanks to the new method of the Italian physician Eduardo Porro, only sixty percent of the cases were fatal.

To date, she did not know exactly how she carried out the surgery. In one moment, she asked the nurse for a scalpel and in the second the child was in her arms; a motionless, barely breathing child. The little boy was born over nine weeks early, which greatly decreased his chances, but Evelyn hoped that he would succeed. She wanted it more than ever in exactly at such moments, looking at the mother, whose face exploded into this radiant smile and her green eyes shone like the sun. The doctor's insides melted. She was the one that put that look there. This moment was special and she did not want to let it go. It was really a great feeling. At least until she turned back to the door.

Standing there was a young, blond man. No one seeing him would tell that there was something wrong with him; the only problem was that no one but her could see him.

Evelyn lowered her eyes. It was not her business. She finished her shift ten minutes ago, besides, what else could she do? She marched forward, not looking up at the dark suit, the glasses, nor the disturbing looking device that the reaper was pushing. She passed him, and he did not even look at her, exactly as she wanted. None of them must know that she could see them - it was too dangerous.

The woman did not stop until she came outside. Again it was raining, but she had not even thought about unfolding an umbrella. Besides, a transport was already waiting for her by the gate. She walked only a few meters, but it was enough to be soaked to the bone. The inside of the old carriage stank with leather paste polish and soap, but Evelyn did not notice any of these. Only one thing was on her mind.

There had been a couple of times when she had seen the grim reapers at work. The images they extracted from dying people, their memories or rather - as Undertaker called them – the cinematic records. She wondered how they must look when taken from someone so young. They were probably filled with old white ceilings, new electrical lamps, and a few recurring faces. One of which belonged to her.

Ω

The brewing storm transformed the night into an even darker, more sinister hue of pitch black, lending it a frightening and menacing feel. The downpour of rain was strong and constant, coming down in continuous strings that glowed eerily every time bolt of electricity flared up from within the stormy, evilly churning clouds.

The pleasant scent of fresh Applewood coiled softly in the shadowy room, brushing past the senses of a woman sitting silently by the window. Finally, her restless gaze settled on the bright flames. The soft crackling of burned wood slowly replaced the constant turmoil outside, hushing it to comfortable deadness.

Creaking door interrupted the idyll night. An elderly maid in nightgown slipped into the room, illuminating her way with small oil lamp, however, her entrance seemed not to draw attention of pensive young woman.

"Miss Douglas?" the maid came closer and patted the girl on her blanket covered shoulder.

"Yes, Margery, what is it?" Evelyn drawled out tiredly. In fact, the way she had said it seemed to the maid as if her young miss did not really want to know.

"Excuse me, miss, but a man is calling. He didn't want to introduce himself, but demands to talk with you."

The look Evelyn gave her at that very moment shocked her, nearly causing her beating heart to jerk to a halt in her chest. It was the same look she had seen when Margery had met her the first time. It was a completely stern, empty look but there was a strange flickering light behind those pale, cold eyes, a brief turmoil, a craving need, a war of emotions against reason, like she had something important to tell her, to anyone, something everyone needed to know yet no one could ever find out.

Then the light from her eyes was gone once more, frozen and replaced by a veil of carefully guarded, thick blankness and determination, just like now. It had been the first time Margery could have sworn that her miss was on the brink of crying. Yet she never did, at least not on the outside, just like now.

The tormented eyes lingered on Margery's soft gaze before Evelyn swallowed and reluctantly stood up. She took the lamp from the maid and scattering roosting in the corridor shadows, went downstairs. Barefooted on the cold hardwood floor, Evelyn shivered as she walked across the room and, not noticing the carpet, tripped over it and slammed into the floor. Miraculously, the lamp was not shattered, but the light went out, plunging all into impenetrable darkness. She pulled her eyes shut tight and gritted her teeth, willing the pain in her knees to go away; willing herself to calm down, stand up and answer that damn phone. Who, on earth, had the nerve to call people at three in the morning?

She did it all, at the same time growling like a bloodthirsty demonic hound.

"Whoever you are and whatever you want, go to hell!"

Listening to the man on the other side of the wire her expression hardened, morphing into rigidness that tried hard to push out the emotions stirring inside. Her shaky hand moved as if on its own accord to ruffle tresses of black hair in a nervous tic. After the caller hung up, she could only sigh.

"Margery, wake Jonathan, I need to get to the hospital!"

Ω

With every passing second, she felt the stronger need to end his wild stride through the deserted hallways of the hospital and slap him senseless.

"You want me to do what?" she asked again, trying to catch her breath. The young woman could not believe the words flying out from Osbert's mouth. "I can't do it. I have never done it before and I don't know how!

"Flaubert has no phone, Ericson is visiting his family outside London and nobody knows where your charming supervisor is so there's no one else," Osbert stopped in front of the door to the operative room and furrowed unnaturally bushy brows with pure distaste. "Believe me, I don't like it even more than you do."

She started to boil, inwardly. Feeling a lot warmer inside from blooming anger, Evelyn gave it all she had and walked through the door. On the other side waiting for her was a creepy-looking group of men, one of which was squirming and screaming on a table, but more importantly, he was profusely bleeding. Everything about them from the expensive suits and the smell of tobacco, to the handguns, screamed only one word: mafia.

Evelyn was not as ignorant as before. Especially due to the Undertaker and his big mouth. She knew that Osbert, her familiar reaper, and several criminals had common business under the leadership of the Earl Phantomhive. He was trying to bring order through the use of controlled chaos. Not everyone liked it. Even in the hospital, a large part of the doctors was in opposition to this so-called Aristocracy of Evil. There were talks of firing Osbert, about the end of the rule of Vincent Phantomhive, and about finally bringing the new order. Nobody knew who started these promptings and to whose ears they were directed, but one could hear them all over the city, as long as he knew what to listen for.

Undertaker told her that this was nothing new, because at all times every action caused a reaction, and there would always be those who, thanks to this rule, want to rise to the top. The only difference was that this time the promptings focused mainly on the hospital director and his deviant methods. After all, the employment of women as doctors was blasphemy against the law of nature.

Thus, contrary to her will Evelyn was involved in a game of power and considered as one of the few physicians, whom the director could trust. Of course, Osbert would sooner castrate himself than admit it, but it did not change the facts. Just like her reluctance did not change the fact that she had to prepare to the surgery.

"I'll need a nurse," she whispered to the resentful man.

"Absolutely not," he protested so violently that a few drops of saliva flew out of his mouth. "You see the man in the flat cap? He's the head of the Ferro family. The patient is his nephew Azzurro Vanel. Do you think that if you fail he will allow us to get out of here alive?"

"I cannot do it alone," she repeated.

"Then I will assist you!"

"What's with all this commotion, Osbert, where is the surgeon?"

The director, who on a daily basis was as unshakable as a wall, went pale and began to sweat hearing the raspy Italian voice.

"At night, we suffer from a lack of personnel. This is Dr. Douglas, she is here on Vincent recommendation. She will carry out the surgery."

"There is no fucking way that…"

"She will only assist me."

Evelyn wanted to cry out loud seeing the plump doctor with the thick mustache who had just entered the room. That seemed to calm down the Ferro.

"Vincent's whore or not, she better not get too familiar with my Azzurro if she don't want to find herself swimming in sewage," threatened the gangster. "One more thing: If he loses the leg I will personally shoot all three of you in the fucking face."

Osbert only nodded and led physicians out of the room so they could scrub and start what could possibly be their last surgery.

Ω

Seeing state of the leg, Evelyn thanked the heavens that the family of Dr. Ericson was so terrible that the man did not want to argue with or deal with them on their vacation and had simply run away from them. If she had been alone in this, she could have as well already shot herself. The girl had never before seen something like this. The bullet was lodged in the tunica, and that was the only reason he had not bled to death long ago. She was not even sure if they could save the man, not speaking about his leg. There was a moment when she thought they would need to take the leg off because it started showing signs of necrosis. They could not get the broken bones to set, their sharp ends preventing secure connection.

For a moment, Evelyn looked away from the patient to glance at the men present in the room. When she saw a tall, young, bright-eyed brunet wearing glasses and a neat suit her throat dried.

"Sir, exactly how many of these thugs are here?" she asked. The main problem with the reapers lay in the fact she could not tell them apart from ordinary people.

"Together with our dear unconscious friend here, seven, but I guarantee you that even one could easily shoot us like sitting ducks."

The girl almost collapsed. She also saw seven men, so none of them was a harbinger of death. They would live, at least for now.

Ω

The sun rose and shone, warming up the damp ground only to be swallowed up by the fog that so relentlessly claimed its dominance over this land when Evelyn came into Osbert's office. She went to change her clothes which were grimy with blood, while Ericson spoke with the director about events of the past night. Now it was her turn.

The girl passed the surgeon at the door, but no wasting too much time on pleasantries he only tipped his hat and left the room, leaving her alone with the man leaned over his desk.

"I need to tell you something, so be so nice and don't interrupt." Osbert's face was rigid, unreadable as he spoke in his habitual unrushed manner, turning his head to stare passively at the table. "From the beginning I was opposed to letting women into my hospital. You know, I have done it only because of Phantomhive, but it is enough," he looked at her as if to strangle her on the spot. "I do not care which one of you actually sucks Earl's cock. If Dalles won't come back to work, and you cannot know where to find her, both of you are finished here. She goes, you go. Do you understand?"

"But…" her cry of desperation fought its way to daylight in the form of a strangled growl.

The man struck the desk, immediately silencing her. Then he calmly continued.

"She is continuing to experience the trauma." It was a half question trailing off as a half assumption.

"Mister Osbert, Madam Red lost the baby and her husband. I have the impression that, given the circumstances, she's coping quite well."

"Maybe she is doing well as a woman, but not as a doctor. This is your last chance, Douglas. From now on, you're responsible for baroness Dalles."

Ω

Over the next few days, Evelyn tried to find out where Madame Red was disappearing after her shifts. So far, the only clue were the words of one nurse, who several times on her way home, saw Dr. Dalles' carriage. The strange thing was that every time it headed to the East End.

Today, the girl specifically came out earlier from the work and dismissed Jonathan to be able to follow Madam. She did not have to wait long. The woman in red left the hospital smiling to the whole world and, with the usual spring in her step, jumped into the carriage.

When it left the girl jumped out from behind a corner taking off in an amazing speed to one of the cabs standing near the hospital.

"After the carriage pulled by two palamino horses," she instructed a coachman.

The old man moved without a word. It was London and he had lived here since birth. He had seen stranger things than young women tracking their fiancés. He was silent until he saw the carriage, which they were going after, stopped in the worst part of town.

"This is not a safe place, miss," he warned. "Nothing good you will find here. If the boy ventures in these areas, he'll bring you nothing but trouble. It's better to look for another man, someone decent."

She did not fancy sneaking around the docks, but seeing a figure getting out of the carriage, she had to follow it. Evelyn paid the man and asked him to wait for her. He, however, refused and after warning her one last time, drove off.

Anxious light blue eyes watched the flourish of a crimson coat as Madam Red left the main road into the night-shrouded side streets. The girl's soft leather shoes touched the deserted cobbled streets, heading towards the river. The scent of burning wood snaked its way through the narrow streets, ash descending from the legion of chimneys standing guard on the rooftops of old buildings. The erratic pattern of the fresh footsteps was almost too easy to follow in the thin layer of snow.

Evelyn crept up behind Dr. Dalles, hiding in the shadows of the narrow, forgotten-by-God-and-police streets. She knelt behind abandoned, wooden crates watching as her target entered the door leading to the basement of one of the riverside houses. A wave of goose bumps flashed across her skin as her eyes fell upon a man that strode over the dark alley towards her. She quickly ducked behind one of other crates, heart racing in a frenzy of someone fearing untimely discovery. The thudding in her chest turned loud as the man passed a mere meter away from her, she was convinced that he would hear it. Nevertheless, he soon moved away from her and without a single pause or suspicion disappeared around the corner.

All this did not help her decide what to do now. She could not just sit there and wait for the Madam. The seconds that already passed filled her mind with angered determination to unravel the mystery that put her on sharp edge ever since the older woman had vanished underground.

'Enough of this nonsense,' she thought, and in one swift stride she passed the street, found the latch, and made her way down into the barely lit stairway leading down. She came into a long, low room, thick with the brown of opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths. Through the gloom, she could catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange poses; head thrown back, pointed upward, bent knees. Out of the black shadows glimmered little red circles of light, some bright, others faint as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes.

As she entered on opium den, a pretty, short Asian in skimpy clothes had hurried up to her with a pipe and supply of the drug, beckoning her to an empty berth.

"I'm not here for a fix," she protested, searching with her eyes sings of red in the shadows. "I'm looking for a friend."

Short woman's face twisted in a grimace bordering between innocent, yet lecherous smile, after which she took Evelyn by the arm and led her across the room, through the curtained door passing into the second chamber. This room was different. Besides fragrance of opium one could also smell stimulating the senses, exotic incenses. Red lanterns gave an intimate light gently flowing to the spaces separated by panels, behind which came the sounds of intertwined bodies and moans of pleasure.

Evelyn closed her eyes. This was not just an opium den, but also a brothel. She could not, or rather did not want to understand what Madam Red was doing in such place. Lost in thought she almost did not notice that her guide stopped.

"Choose which friend" she offered, pointing to several women sitting, or lying on huge pillows. All were from Asia, probably from China, but besides that and their unquestionable beauty, they had nothing in common. Some were slim, others more plump. There were brunettes, but also dyed blondes and redheads. Several were fully grown-up, but a few could not been older than thirteen. Nevertheless, they all had similar clothes showing a lot of skin, especially in area of legs and chest.

"Choose." she repeated firmly.

"I'm afraid there has been a mistake. I do not seek this kind of friend," she explained cautiously, not wanting to get into unnecessary trouble.

"Finding someone, especially a friend, is a real challenge. However, what if that friend does not want to be found, do you still should seek them, or just respect their decision?"

Evelyn turned around scared out of her wits. Behind her stood a man in a kimono, holding the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The Asian couple was extremely peculiar. The woman looked like an empty, porcelain doll, while the man with closed eyes and a mysterious smirk resembled a fox.

"Beautiful, ambitious young flower ventured into the darkness of hell to find their support, which fell into a shadow of despair," he continued cryptically. "But it takes only one careless step and the flower will be trampled. Hell is not a good place for delicate, little plants."

"Where is she?" demanded the girl. No matter how to look at it; she and Lady Dalles were protected by the Phantomhive family and every offender would think twice before he would try to hurt them.

"Where is who?" he asked politely.

"What do you mean by whom? She, of course."

"But who do you mean by she and who are you?"

Evelyn clenched her teeth. This clown was muddling up her head.

"You want to tell me that you don't know who I am and why I'm here?"

"Exactly," Chinaman was glad they had reached an agreement.

"But…" the girl groaned, but said nothing more. As her grandmother had said, "No matter how stupid and vulgar people are, there always is a place for good manners." According to this principle, a young doctor curtseyed. "I am Evelyn Douglas, a friend of doctor Dalles and I'm looking for her."

The man bowed back.

"Lau, from Shanghai trading company Kong-Rong and this is Ran Mao," he introduced himself and the woman on his arm, then he pointed to one of the enclosed spaces. "There you will find Madam Red."

Evelyn did not lose more time and rushed to the indicated boudoir. Madam Red was lying there alone on a comfortable ottoman. She muttered to herself in a strange, low monotonous voice. Her monolog was coming out in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into a silence.

"I suppose she comes here to forget," offered Lau, seeing her shock. "Sometimes you cannot do anything more."

"For how long has she come here?" the brunette asked, sitting down by Madam's side and examining her.

"She started two months ago," he replied, and then paused for a moment. "Normally I do not give information about my customers, but Madam Red has a close relationship with a very important person."

"I'm aware of it," she mumbled. "I thought she was doing it far longer than two months. At least so it looks."

"Opium helps to forget, get rid of the nightmares plaguing you in the endless nights, but in the day it's useless. Sometimes you need something else to help you keep going."

"You think she is taking something else?" the young woman did not wait for an answer. She rolled up Madam's sleeves searching for traces of injections. She did not find anything. But Lady Dalles was a clever woman. She would not risk that someone might discover her secrets. Evelyn took off stockings of the red-haired woman and began to inspect her legs. For some time blue eyes rested thoughtfully upon skin behind the knees and areas between the toes, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks.

Lady Dalles, or rather, Dr. Dalles, had a free access to all sorts of medications, including cocaine. This explained her endless energy and good humor. Everyone thought that she had excellently coped with the tragedy, or was in the phase of suppression, but it was all just one big farce. Nothing more than a thick pack of lies. Lies which Evelyn's whole career depended on.

Ω

Madam Red opened her eyes. As usual, she saw an elegant navy blue pattern on the upholstery of the ceiling in Lau's carriage. However, gentle rocking of the carriage and picture of snow dancing outside did not reflect raging storm of feelings in her heart. She could never let Rachel see, allow her to understand, let her watch how she would crumble and fall to pieces.

Staring vacantly into the mid-distance, she finally noticed that she was not alone. She could not see the face of a woman sitting in front of her, but too many times she had seen the furry, dark blue coat, to not recognize it.

"What now, my dear little girl?" Madam asked, turning away from the younger woman.

"Whatever you want, I suppose." she replied in an unstrained tone.

"What? Nothing about how stupid I am, that I must stop, or that I need to attend rehab?" after a pause her voice was hesitant, accusing even. "Why aren't you telling me these things? Why aren't you screaming at me? Why aren't you nailing me to kingdom come with your sharp words?"

"Because you need sleep, Madam. Besides, I don't think rehab is a nice place and I'm afraid that where you go, I go; at least for now." her voice was suddenly smooth and chillingly soft with a sharp twist at the end.

The woman in red did not answer as she went sailing back to the land of dreams. Evelyn knew she should do something. She should tell Lady Phantomhive about her sister's problems and suggest sending her to a rehab. Nevertheless, she would not do it. If Madam Red left the hospital, she also would have to go. People were selfish creatures and so was she.

"You will not tell Rachel, right?" the older woman unexpectedly stammered, drifting on the edge of consciousness.

"No, but no more secrets. If you have bad day, you tell me. When you need a fix, you tell me. Understood?"

"Yes sir," she mumbled with sleepy salute. "They cannot know. Not Rachel and not Ciel. Especially Ciel. Do you know that my little boy's birthday is tomorrow? I bought him a beautiful jacket and plush doggie. Ciel loves dogs."

Those were Madam Red's last words that day, both because she fell asleep and because at that moment Big Ben struck midnight. The fourteenth of December began.

* * *

><p><strong>So much thanks to reviewers and those who alertedfaved. I do hope you'll stick with this story as it develops. Thanks for reading and please do leave your thoughts, good or bad, it does help the muse a lot. **

**I'm also grateful as always to LadyKeyes for her help, she is the best :D**


	3. Those left behind

**Chapter three - Those left behind**

No day is just another ordinary day. Each of them is the beginning or end of something; someone's heaven or hell. For Evelyn this day was like a bad joke, and like everything else in hell, it was deadly serious.

The dark-haired woman closed her eyes and put her hands into a bowl of boiling water, hoping that the pain would allow her to get away. Nevertheless, when she opened her eyelids and saw in the water a reflection of red spots that soaked her apron, she knew the worst was still ahead of her. So far she had survived only a few hours of surgery that, against all odds, had not ended in total fiasco. Thus far she had only ruined her dress and her shoes, from which blood would squelch with every step. And to think that all of it started so inconspicuous.

At first Evelyn had thought that the elegant, old Asian man lying on the operation table had been an assaulted foreign dignitary, or a member of the triad, but the hushed whispers of nurses and Osbert's screams from behind the door were confirmation of something else. She was busy as a beaver assisting Dr. Ericson with the procedure, but in the onslaught of tasks and increasing noise the girl managed to catch two words: Phantomhive and annihilation. As it turned out, instead of her nephew's birthday party at the Earl estate, Madam Red found a wild inferno that had consumed literally everything. The only survivor seemed to have been old butler, who miraculously managed to crawl out.

Dark blood from her fingers danced in the water, the uncontrolled twitching of her muscles pulled its strings like an evil puppeteer, whirring and jerking it around in a sickly waltz of horrid shapes that could have been spawned by hell itself. Evelyn focused her moonstone eyes, looking sternly at the bloodied water that started to burn her skin. Staring vacantly into mid-distance, she finally pulled her hands out. A single, unstoppable tear cascaded down her cheek in desolate realization: she would not be able to decide her fate. Whoever killed the Earl and his family had stolen her career, her choices, and her future.

"I understand that the butler is still among living."

Evelyn pulled away from the table with startled wide eyes, shaky hands jostling the bowl that with a dull bang fell to the floor. The water spilled, completely soaking her shoes, as the bowl rolled to the feet of the Undertaker who was standing in the doorway. He, however, did not grin or burst out laughing at the sight of her failure this time. His expression was hardened, morphed into a rigidness that tried hard to push out the dark emotions stirring inside him

"Why? Why do you always have to do this?" she huffed in an agitated voice, still shaken from his sudden appearance and from the chill that had begun to claw at her skin. "You keep sneaking up like a freaking shadow."

"Well, "sneaking up" is in my nature. I was a grim reaper once, remember?" he spoke, drawling darkly.

"It's rather hard thing to forget," she mumbled, rubbing her hands. "And yes, Mister Tanaka is alive at least for now. Nevertheless, I'm not sure if he will survive, and even then I don't think he will ever fully recover. I suppose that a police want to question him?"

"Indeed, they're at the door like a group of vultures waiting for a piece of carrion."

"I am sure that's more out of concern for their careers than a sense of justice," she pointed out.

"Rather out of fear," he corrected ominously, and with his every word the bump of anxiety in her throat grew dangerously. "The death of the Phantomhives will affect not only the underworld, but also the lives of ordinary people. Inferior criminals will not feel a major force above them. No longer will they hide in a shadows. They will act in light of day, itching for more and more, not caring about the balance. Organized groups will fight for territory and influence; streets will flow with the blood of the innocent and criminals alike. There will be panic among ordinary people and traders. Prices will rise, further heightening the tension. London will become a battleground, the likes of which the city has not seen in decades. "

Listening to him, Evelyn did not notice the Undertaker begin to move. When he had finished speaking, he was already at her fingertips, in which he put a small, dark box.

"You should take care of yourself, my little missy. The world just got even more dangerous than before."

Ω

Undertaker was right. Actually, it was strange how often the perpetually grinning lunatic usually was. With ensuing chaos, even the weather seemed to dance in one rhythm, like the flood of raindrops falling in the few last days from the sky. Drains choked up, constantly spewing silt, mud, dead rats, dogs, and any other gook anybody was able to think of. In those days, the world seemed to push on top all of the junk that people wanted to destroy or forget. White fluff, which at this time of year usually tried to hide omnipresent London filth, did not even try to appear, rightly assuming that in the end it will only help reveal more layers of grime.

A pair of horses pulling a posh carriage through flooded street stopped near a forged iron gate leading to the old town house, where hunched figure with a towel was already waiting at the door. The distance from the carriage to the building was not large, but it was enough for Evelyn to become completely wet. Water dripped down from her hair as she crossed the threshold. When Margery caught her with a towel, she just stood on the cold floor, shivering, replaying in her mind all terrible images from the past few days. She let the maid lead her to her bedroom and dress her in dry clothes like mindless porcelain doll. Then she finally was left alone.

Completely still, after unmoving for what seemed like an eternity, Evelyn finally didn't feel the chills, didn't see the horrors, and didn't hear the dark cries of pain. She observed her surroundings, eyes flickering from one side of the room to the other, until they encountered the small box that Undertaker had given her a week ago. It was not truly her's to have, but she could not bring herself to give it back, at least not yet.

The young woman took out something from her purse and walked out into the hallway, heading for one of the guest rooms. Before the room which she was interested was a small trolley with an untouched silver tray of dinner. Evelyn passed it with a sigh and knocked on the door, but did not wait for a reply. The bedroom door swung open, soft slippers moved silently on a polished chestnut floor as a scent of smoke and musty air swept through the barely lit room. She sat down on the bed as her pale moonstone eyes drifted to the side, stopping absently on a completely covered form.

"You should eat something."

Only silence answered her, but she had not been expecting anything else. For the last week that she hosted Madam Red (though perhaps "hidden" would be a better word) the woman had said next to nothing. Lady Dalles own house was being constantly guarded by Yard, but that did not stop the three attacks aimed at the Phantomhive relative. So far Evelyn remained unnoticed by Phantomhive's opponents, taken more as a curiosity and a whore of the deceased Earl than one of the major players, and she was immensely grateful for it.

"You know that you need to gather more strength for tomorrow," she tried again, but with the same result. The young doctor became concerned seeing that the sheets were not moving up and down to the rhythm of breath.

"Madam?" she asked frantically with unease. Her agitation grew when she found that the figure lying on the bed was in fact nothing more than few rolled up blankets and stacked pillows. "Dr. Dalles, this isn't funny."

"No, it is not," purled little voice from the floor on the other side of the bed.

The girl hearing it rolled over the bed, wanting to make sure that the red-haired female really was there. Seeing the usually elegant woman huddled in a corner in a nightgown, Evelyn sighed with relief, despite the pathetic scene before her.

"Truly, Madam, please don't scare me like that again. I was afraid you had disappeared."

"And where could I walk off to? You know as well as I that I have no place to go. No one can see me like this, even you shouldn't." Madam Red looked bitterly at a white wall as she sunk further into the shadows. She could not understand why she was so weak. She had tried to be stronger, to stop this madness, this sickness of mind and body but each time it turned fruitless. With every failure, it proved even harder to fight the desperation, the endless whispers, the insufferable weight of the overwhelming darkness that always followed. The voices, the ever present sinister voices, fabricated by depths of her own wavering mind, whispering, shouting, telling her to give up this hopeless struggle, urging to let go, amused by her useless resolve, her shattered will to go on, pointless refusal to accept the inevitable fate.

"How, how could you have handled it, the death of your parents?"

"True be told, I don't know," Evelyn responded sincerely. "It was different, you know, without the noise, or the headlines, or the overwhelming chaos. In one moment they simply disappeared, leaving only me behind. It was ill fate, nothing more. "

"But how…" her voice broke, chocolate eyes would well up with tears if not for a hand that suddenly appeared on her shoulder.

"You will attend the funeral, and bid them farewell. You will mourn, and then you will continue with your life. Sometimes the reality of their absence will hit you like a blow to the gut and you will cry. However, this will happen less and less as time goes on. They are dead and you are alive. You can do nothing more." Evelyn voice was detached, her eyes dark and hollow like depths of the Arctic ocean.

The girl stretched out her other hand in which was hidden a small package wrapped in brown paper.

"On the way home I stopped at Lau. You have to schedule the doses in a more reasonable manner. Opium is getting harder to get, and Lau doesn't know how long he will remain in business; he doesn't even know who will be his boss tomorrow morning."

The older woman greedily grabbed the package, tearing the paper with trembling from excitement fingers.

"Thank God, but ..." she paused, wondering for a moment if she should say aloud what really bothered her. On the other hand, what she had to lose? Miss Douglas was well aware of the wreck of human being that her mentor was, and yet she accepted it. Madam Red did not know why and prefered not to wonder about it for too long. For now, she had an ally in the young woman, which was more than could be said about anyone else. "What will happen tomorrow? I can't..."

Madam fell silent seeing two small vials of the drug, which almost immediately disappeared into Evelyn pocket.

"I'll give it to you tomorrow morning before I go on my shift."

The words of the black-haired girl drew her attention more than the sight of her liquid salvation.

"You will not be at the funeral?"

"I'm sorry, but I doubt it. In the current situation, all available doctors are needed in the hospital." She apologised as she was getting up and walking to the door. Evelyn wanted to leave, but was stopped by her name spoken by the chewed lips of her guest.

"After tomorrow, when it's all over, I'll try to pull myself together. Do you think I can do it?" The hope in her words was almost inaudible. It was as if she already knew the answer, and only wanted to be sure.

"No, you cannot," Evelyn replied, summoning to the older woman's cheek a single tear. "Not alone. A while ago, I read in a medical journal about a new method of addictions treatment. Apparently, the results are very promising. I'm sure we can arrange it quietly. And please," she added, "don't thank me."

Ω

The day came after a sour night of bright flashes crackling across the dark sky and the rumble of thunder plundering the silence. Evelyn jumped a puddle heading to the side, where amongst a group of ancient, magnificent oak trees, stood small but very well kept church, from which two coffins were being led out. They were followed by a procession of people in black, elegant, richly ornate and completely not matched for the mood of a funeral clothes. Ladies in muslins and silks gathered in small packs, quietly sharing their observations and scandalous speculations. Gentlemen were following their example, being at the same time a little more discreet.

Evelyn leaned against one of the oaks. Her scornful sneer betrayed her frail opinion of these self-proclaimed mourners. Each of them wore a mask showing pain, anguish or at least sadness. However, most of them did not actually care about the lost lives. It was simply another social event - one of those from which it did not seem right to be absent. Everyone who was somebody in society was here. And only the most important, the chosen ones, had the right to go to the ruins of Phantomhives estate where the bodies were to be buried.

Looking at Madam Red, raven-haired girl thought that the lack of the third grave was nothing more than unnecessary cruelty. The boy's body was not found, and although Undertaker was quite restrained in sentencing that the child was burned along with the rest of the household, Evelyn did not believe that a small Ciel might be found, and even if that could happen, she doubted that he would be the same sweet kid.

Unwanted thoughts began to flow into her head. She looked down at cuffs of her dress tinged with red. Five hours ago, in front of a bakery, an eight-year-old boy was shot. Two hours ago, they operated him. His chances were fifty-fifty and even she could not predict his fate because recently, she saw grim reapers at almost every corner of the hospital. They win some, they lose some - that's what it was all about, no promises, no guarantees of survival, no saints in surgical garbs. Their willingness, their experiences, their technique were not enough. Knives, guns and people that wielded them had more power to take lives than doctors had to preserve them.  
>When she looked up, to her surprise her eyes fell upon a small, blond girl. She was like a brilliant diamond, completely out of place. There was an air of sorrow and vulnerability around the girl, which made Evelyn feel the kid was not like the others, as they would never care for anyone or anything else apart from keeping their false image intact, at any price.<p>

"Miss Douglas," it was said so tenderly she almost thought it came from some angel. "Aunt Ann wants to ask if you would like to join her in the carriage on the way to the cemetery?"

For a second her thoughts strayed to the possibility, but she disregarded them momentarily.

"I'm afraid I cannot. I must go back to the hospital." she paused and handed her a package. "Could you give this to Doctor Dalles for me? And apologize to her on my behalf. I should have given it to her at the beginning but… just give it to her."

Ω

Sometime later, Madam Red opened the package. She found in it a tiny box hiding the gold signet ring of Phantomhive family, and a copy of the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, which described new, miraculous medicine that was helping to, among other things, soothe the symptoms of cocaine withdrawal.

Her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Heroin, interesting…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Little explanation: At the beginning, a heroin really was considered a wonder drug, because apparently it didn't resulted in physical dependence. Admittedly it has been widely used a couple of years later than when the story take place in Kuroshitsuji, but hush, no nit-picking.**

**My usual heartfelt thanks to everyone who's read/alerted/ reviewed, as well as to LadyKeyes. **


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